


Equal Ground

by INMH



Series: The Fruits of Mercy [6]
Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: Drama, M/M, References to Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Sexual Content, Strong Language, references to past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Fruits of Mercy series. Grayson and the Rebels make a second run on the United India Company House, and he finds himself reuniting- among other things- with Alastair.





	Equal Ground

**[-The Twelfth Day of July, 1887-]**  
  
“I cannot believe we’re back here again.”  
  
Devi looked miserable, and Grayson couldn’t blame her: It was raining cats and dogs, thundering loud enough to drown out half their words, and they were about to break into the bloody United India Company House.  
  
Again.  
  
Fortunately, Lakshmi was the one who’d come up with the idea to raid the Company House again and not him, and Devi couldn’t be mad at her Queen if she tried. Frustrated, aggravated, worried sick? Certainly. But never _mad_. There was a deep benefit to being under Lakshmi’s command now, because it meant that she made the decisions and Devi’s wrath wouldn’t be turned on _his_ hide. Lakshmi hadn’t been joking when she’d warned him not to get on Devi’s bad side.  
  
Grayson linked his fingers and nodded to Devi. “Go on, I’ve got you.” She sighed, but let him boost her over the wall.  
  
Lakshmi was next, and Grayson gave her a pointed look. “Careful, Lakshmi, I think her trigger-finger’s getting itchy.”  
  
“Why thank you, Knight,” She remarked dryly. Lakshmi and Devi still called him ‘Knight’ whenever they thought he was being a bit too sassy. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Grayson smirked as she climbed over the wall and heard her drop down on the other side.  
  
He leaned against the wall and waited, shivering slightly at the cold. It wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world to return to the Company House, given what had transpired the last time he was there; the idea that they might run into Hastings again was a dreadful possibility, because Vampires were even tougher than Lycans and there was a strong possibility that the three of them wouldn’t be enough against him.  
  
A scraping sound on the other side of the wall alerted him to Lakshmi and Devi’s return, and the former poked her head over the top of the wall after a moment. “Alright, jump!” Grayson took a breath, jumped, and Lakshmi caught him by the wrists. Devi must have been holding her around the waist on the other side, because she was struggling to pull him up.  
  
Once he’d reached the top of the wall, Grayson hooked his leg over it and looked down at the two women. Devi gave him a moody look and said, “Lose weight, Knight.”  
  
“I’ll take it under consideration, Devi,” Grayson responded good-naturedly before jumping to the ground.  
  
They readied their weapons. Grayson would have been happier with a thermite rifle, since fire was one of the few proven, time-honored weapons against Vampires, but thermite rifles were too heavy and bulky to lug around the compound if they meant to stay unnoticed. For now, crossbows and pistols would have to do.  
  
“Let’s not have a repeat of Finlay,” Lakshmi whispered. “We stick together. Do _not_ get separated. And if anything or anyone grabs you, scream. We’ll deal with the consequences after we stop you from getting killed.”  
  
_We hope,_ Grayson thought silently. “Anything in particular you want us to look for?”  
  
“Shipping manifests, anything bearing Hastings’s signature or seal- use your discretion. Anything is better than nothing.”  
  
They set off through the compound, keeping low and occasionally popping their head above or around a wall or hedge to look ahead for danger. Grayson remembered the saturation of guards the night he and Alastair had broken into the compound and suddenly wondered if that had been the normal coverage of guards, or if maybe Alastair had tipped Hastings off that he was getting a few visitors that night.  
  
But as they made their way through the compound, they encountered almost no resistance. The few guards they saw were easily avoided because they were spaced so far apart that it wasn’t difficult to find an alternative route.  
  
“Something’s wrong, here,” Grayson whispered as they re-entered the building and quietly shut the door behind them. “There are barely any guards.”  
  
Devi nodded, leaning back against a wall. “You’re right. I’ve barely seen anyone. You’d think they’d have security increased after the last time.”  
  
“Unless, of course, Hastings has pulled out most of the Company Men and has Vampires hiding around the compound.”  
  
Devi stared at him, eyes wide. “You don’t really think that, do you?”  
  
Grayson looked back at her gravely. “I bloody-well hope not, or we’re all dead.”  
  
“This doesn’t feel like that,” Lakshmi muttered, frowning and shaking her head. “The guards don’t look bothered. I’d think they’d be bothered if they knew Vampires were prowling around.”  
  
“They don’t necessarily know, though,” Grayson protested. “They’re hired by the company, which is associated with Hastings. They’re human- they’d have spotted us by now if they weren’t- and I don’t think Hastings is interested in cluing them in to his activities.”  
  
“Fair enough.” But Lakshmi still looked troubled. “Let’s keep moving. Maybe once we’re deeper inside we’ll find more men.”  
  
But they didn’t- the halls were virtually empty. There were no shoot-outs this time, no hiding behind a pillar or a cabinet to dodge gunfire. The trio still moved carefully, cautious that any noise could unluckily alert one of the few guards nearby, but they encountered no resistance.  
  
It was suspicious.  
  
And the suspicions came to a head once they found the archive room.  
  
Still wary of their luck, they entered the room silently and kept any and all discussion to whispers. When they looked at the shelves, however, Lakshmi’s jaw dropped. “Where did everything _go?_ ”  
  
The shelves were bare. There was the odd piece of paper scattered on the floor, but beyond that someone had cleaned all of the books out of the archive; a quick inspection showed that the drawers and cabinets beneath the shelves were empty as well. Grayson cursed quietly to himself as Lakshmi paced slowly, shocked, around the room; Devi seemed unaffected, having never been in the archives room before, and was peeling through the drawers and cabinets trying to find some missed, forgotten scrap of information.  
  
Then he smelled it.  
  
“Lakshmi,” Grayson hissed urgently. “Smell that?”  
  
She stopped her pacing and sniffed the air. It took a moment before her expression darkened. “Burning wood?”  
  
Grayson nodded slowly to the door they’d gone through last time, the one that led to the study Hastings had killed Finlay in. _Fireplace,_ he mouthed, and motioned for her to stay where she was. He crept towards the door, heart pounding in anticipation of what he was about to see- Hastings bleeding someone else dry, maybe? Or maybe he’d just be sitting primly in a chair waiting for Grayson to come in.  
  
Grayson made sure the crossbow was loaded and ready, and then pushed open the door as quietly as he could. He checked the visible corners of the room first to make sure that no one was waiting to ambush him- light from the fireplace flickered against the walls. Then, cautiously, he slipped into the room.  
  
For a moment it was hard to see, his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness.  
  
And then a voice from nearby:  
  
“Hastings is gone, I’m afraid.”  
  
Grayson’s head- and crossbow- whipped to the side.  
  
The voice had already tipped him off; looking at the chair only confirmed that the man sitting in it was Alastair D’Argyll (assuming he still went by the Lord Chancellor’s surname), the former Sir Lucan of the Knights of the Roundtable. It had been months since he’d seen him last, when they’d parted on the outskirts of the city, Alastair leaving to join his Lycan brethren and Grayson staying with the Rebels.  
  
They’d left on good terms, but having been apart for months, Grayson wasn’t entirely certain where they stood, especially given that the Rebels were determined to prevent Hastings and the other half-breeds from attacking civilians and making their way to the Americas to infect new people.  
  
“Alastair,” Grayson acknowledged, lowering the crossbow. “Long time no see.”  
  
“Indeed,” Alastair drawled. He was sitting on a couch with his back to Grayson, head turned towards the fire. “Hastings is gone, Grayson. He and the Company are moving house; the first things to go were all sensitive documents and what have you.” He paused and took a sip from whatever was in his glass. “Come talk to me, Grayson. Let’s catch up.”  
  
Grayson’s eyebrows rose. “You want to talk?”  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
Grayson had opened his mouth to respond when a movement near the door caught his eye.  
  
Lakshmi was standing in the half-open doorway, just barely visible, gun raised. Grayson quickly, quietly raised a hand and shook his head. _Go,_ he mouthed. _I’ll handle it._  
  
She gave him a look and mouthed something back that looked a lot like _Have you lost your mind?_  
  
“Hello Lakshmi, how are you tonight?” Alastair remarked flatly from the chair. He hadn’t even turned around to look at her. “A word of warning: You live in a bloody brothel and you smell like stale perfume. I smelled you from the moment you came in the house.”  
  
Lakshmi dropped the gun by her side, rolling her eyes shut. “ _Oh_ my-”  
  
“Lakshmi, I don’t give half a fuck what you do when you leave this room: Go over whatever Hastings left behind with a fine-toothed comb, set the garden on fire, run stark-naked across the roof for all I care. Just let me talk to Gray in peace.”  
  
Grayson gave Lakshmi a pleading look. “I’ll be fine. I know where to find you.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “And so does he, apparently.”  
  
Lakshmi threw her hands up. “If he kills you, we’re not going to risk our necks getting your body back.”  
  
“I don’t expect you to.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
But Lakshmi still hesitated, and she looked at Grayson with an expression that pleaded for him not to stay in this room with a man who’d very nearly gotten them both killed there once upon a time. But Grayson waved at her, mouthing once more, _It’s okay._ And finally, Lakshmi stepped out of view, and Grayson heard her footsteps retreating towards the archives.  
  
He turned back to Alastair, who still hadn’t turned around. “You knew we were coming,” Grayson remarked as he paced towards the couch.  
  
“I was here anyway. And I smelled you.”  
  
“Me, or Lakshmi?”  
  
“Both of you. Oh _sit_ , will you?” Alastair waved a hand wearily in Grayson’s direction and patted the empty seat beside him on the couch. “I’ve barely slept in days and I’m too tired for a fight; I suspect you are too.”  
  
Grayson was. No longer could he sleep with any guarantee of safety, as he could when he was part of the Order. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain was prepared to force them open again if any noises or other sensations disturbed him.  
And judging from the dark bags under Alastair’s eyes, he wasn’t much better off. Indeed, the younger man seemed thinner and paler than when Grayson had last seen him. He was dressed differently, in darker, more ragged clothing than Grayson was accustomed to seeing him in, but still carefully groomed otherwise. He had a few bottles of alcohol laid out, and two glasses.  
  
“And what do I smell like?” Grayson asked as he slowly took a seat beside the Lycan.  
  
Alastair sighed. “A bit like Lakshmi…” He rolled his eyes over to meet Grayson’s. “Again, a pretty blatant tip-off that you spend too much time in a brothel, but I suppose unless they know who you are, most Lycans would assume you’re just a cad.” He paused. “There’s something else in there, but I couldn’t explain it if I tried. I’ve smelled it on you for years.” He smirked slightly. “The perfume is new.”  
  
It was bewildering to consider that, years before Grayson ever figured out that Alastair was a Lycan, that Alastair had come to associate a very specific smell with Grayson. It was dizzying to consider that Alastair had always _been_ a Lycan, and that it had been a significant factor in his life long before anyone else knew about it.  
  
“Here,” Alastair handed him a glass of wine. “It’s from Hastings’s stock.”  
  
Grayson slowly took the glass, and stared at it for a moment as he processed all of the implications of that sentence.  
  
Alastair rolled his eyes, took the glass back, and calmly drank a bit of wine from it. “See? I’m not trying to poison you.”  
  
“I didn’t say you were.”  
  
“You _looked_ like you were being handed poison.”  
  
“This is from a Vampire’s stock, Alastair. For all I know there’s human blood mixed into it.”  
  
“I wouldn’t give you _blood_ , Grayson,” Alastair chuckled. “Besides, Hastings usually added blood after he’s already poured a glass. Leave it in a bottle and it coagulates too much to be appealing.”  
  
Grayson’s nose wrinkled, and Alastair laughed again. But then, gradually, any mirth faded away, and he looked as exhausted as he had when Grayson had first come in. After a few minutes of quiet, with Grayson grimacing and trying not to think of coagulated blood as he drank his wine, he said, “You have a new scar.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Your cheek- you have a new scar.”  
  
“Oh. That.” Alastair reached up and scratched his cheek. “I have a few of those, actually.” His expression actually grew more dismal, if that was possible.  
  
“Lycans run a bit rough, aye?”  
  
Alastair’s laugh was dark and not entirely amused. “You have no idea.”  
  
Again, there was silence for a time after that. All that had been discussed as of yet was banal chit-chat, and Grayson was becoming gradually more curious about why, exactly, Alastair had wanted him to stay.  
  
“Was there something specific you wanted to discuss?”  
  
“Hm?” Again, it seemed that Alastair wasn’t entirely present.  
  
“You said you wanted to speak to me.”  
  
“And we are.”  
  
Grayson’s lip quirked upwards, uncertain but on the edge of amusement. “What, you only wanted a bit of conversation?”  
  
“Yes, well,” Alastair muttered vaguely, avoiding Grayson’s eyes, “One does long for the familiar from time to time.”  
  
“You look miserable,” Grayson remarked.  
  
“I’m a melancholy drunk, Gray. I thought you’d figured that out before.”  
  
“I do. But I doubt that’s all of it.”  
  
They were silent for a few minutes, and Alastair stared at the fire with a dull sort of expression that was strangely alarming to Grayson. The younger man had always been excellent at keeping a straight face, keeping an excessive emotion locked away until he needed it. Grayson was certain that he’d never seen him look so blatantly, honestly miserable before in his life.  
  
“I miss the Order, Gray,” Alastair whispered. “But I don’t miss it, too. Do you understand?”  
  
Grayson thought he did, yes: The Order meant home, structure, familiarity, companions, and _family_ ; at the same time, how could he go back to it knowing the Chancellor’s priorities? How could he go back to it knowing that the preservation of the Order was given higher precedence than preserving peace, or following their purpose as Knights? How could he go back to it knowing that every person in that room, save for Lafayette, had willfully chosen to believe that Grayson, a man they’d served with for centuries, was a traitor?  
  
“Yes,” Grayson said. “I do.”  
  
Alastair’s smile was weak and bleak. “I know you do. I’ve missed you, if you can believe that.”  
  
Grayson hesitated, and then said, “I suppose I’ve missed you as well.”  
  
But Alastair’s smile widened. “You mean the me you knew before I betrayed you?”  
  
“You understand, then.”  
  
“Of course.” A pause. “Did I apologize for that?”  
  
“You did, in your way.”  
  
Alastair was looking at him differently. Drunkenly, of course, because he’d had quite a bit to drink by now, but there was something else in there as well; and had he always been sitting that close? “Well, I am sorry, Gray,” He clarified. “I’m sorry for what I did. If I could have done things differently, I would.”  
  
“What’s done is done,” Grayson said with an uneasy shrug. “I’ve no energy to hold a grudge.”  
  
“Thanks.” Alastair still seemed strangely disconnected from everything- he dipped in closer from time to time, but never seemed to be completely grounded.  
  
“How did the scar happen?” Grayson inquired, desperate to remove some of the tension from the room. “On your face?”  
  
Alastair hesitated, but then scratched his face again. “I… Got into a fight with another Lycan.” He set his drink down and started wrestling- or trying to- his jacket off; he was just this side of truly drunk now, and was having trouble with coordination. Grayson put down his drink as well and helped him get the sleeves off, but found that his coordination wasn’t exactly stellar either. Once the jacket was off, Alastair rolled up his sleeve and showed Grayson his bicep.  
  
Half-healed teeth marks were surrounded by red, agitated skin; when it healed, it would leave an impressive scar. “He bit you?”  
  
“He did.” Alastair’s eyes were blank. “I killed him.”  
  
“You did?”  
  
“I did. I nearly scratched one of his eyes out, and then I slammed him against the ground and cracked open his skull.”  
  
Grayson’s eyes widened. “For Christ’s sake.”  
  
“You know the truly _sick_ part,” Alastair whispered as though he hadn’t heard Grayson, “Is that I wanted to kill him? I felt like an animal. The longer the fight went on, the more I wanted to rip him to shreds. I wanted him to bleed. It happened when I fought you too, Gray. When we fought in the lab, I wanted to _destroy_ you.”  
  
Now there was something in Alastair’s eyes: Fear.  
  
“There’s something wrong with me, Gray. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the Order. Maybe I can’t handle being what I am without being a complete fucking monster.” Alastair laughed so, so bitterly. “God, I threw everything away to be with the Lycans because I thought I wouldn’t be judged for what I was anymore. They hate me for being a Knight, and everyone else hates me for being a Lycan.”  
  
“I don’t hate you,” Grayson said automatically, tongue and reservations loosened by the alcohol. “Not really _happy_ with the whole betrayal bit, but I don’t hate you.”  
  
“You should.”  
  
“I don’t. You can’t help what you are.”  
  
“What I am is a bloody monster.”  
  
Grayson sighed. “You’re not,” He said, carefully running a hand over Alastair’s back. “You’re not a monster. No more than I am.” Grayson had snapped necks and smashed heads himself. “Why did you fight?”  
  
Alastair groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “Oh, the stupid, murder-happy bastard wanted to kill some warehouse workers. They weren’t armed, it was a _stupid_ idea that served no purpose beyond the fact that he was violent and stupid. I’m being repetitive, aren’t I?”  
  
“Eh. A little.” Grayson downed the rest of the wine in his glass and winced as the world became unsteady. “I think that should be my last drink.”  
  
“Likewise. Anymore and I’ll become a real mess.” Alastair leaned back, slightly at an angle so that his head brushed Grayson’s shoulder. “Are you… Are you happy in the Rebellion?” He asked. “Are they good to you there?”  
  
“Good enough.”  
  
Lakshmi was a friend, Devi was becoming one, and most of the Rebels liked him well enough. But there were a handful that still didn’t trust him, saw him as one of the Knights and didn’t think he had a place amongst their ranks. And the ones who liked him were acquaintances, not friends. Grayson had spent so many years, decades, centuries among a relatively regular group of people; changes in the core members of the Order only occurred upon death, and inevitably their replacement became a familiar face and trusted partner.  
  
It had been a long, long time since Grayson had been thrown into a new group of people, complete strangers save for a few, and been forced to accustom himself to them. It was a daunting, uncomfortable experience, and he understood now why Alastair had wanted him to stay and talk; familiarity was nice. They shared a common history and didn’t have to explain themselves to one another.  
  
Alastair was looking at him strangely again. It wasn’t disconcerting so much as it was curious.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Grayson asked, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch. The room was still unsteady, and he had a feeling that wasn’t going to stop until he was sober. He looked down at Alastair inquiringly. “You’re staring. Why are you staring at me?”  
  
Alastair sat up and kissed him.  
  
Grayson was taken completely aback by it, and were his reflexes not dulled by the alcohol, he might have jumped or reflexively pushed the younger man away. As it was, he held still and endured the kiss as his mind desperately tried to connect the dots: How exactly had they gotten to this point? Perhaps it made better sense in Alastair’s mind than Grayson’s.  
  
When Alastair pulled away, Grayson blinked at him. “What was that?” He slurred.  
  
“An offer,” Alastair returned, chin resting on Grayson’s shoulder and a hand on his thigh.  
  
“Because you’re drunk?”  
  
“Because I’m lonely.”  
  
Grayson had never really done his best thinking whilst drunk, and it was hardly the first time he’d entertained sleeping with a man.  
  
Besides, between the kiss and the hand still resting on his upper thigh, Grayson was starting to get hard.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“Alright.” The hand on Grayson’s thigh moved upwards. “There’s a bedroom down the hall.”  
  
“Okay,” Grayson said, breathing a little more shallowly as Alastair started working on his belt.  
  
Have you ever been with a man before?” Alastair asked as he undid the belt and pushed Grayson’s pants away.  
  
“No, I _haaavenggh-_ ” Grayson’s eyes rolled back and he nearly _convulsed_ as Alastair took hold of his cock and pumped it experimentally. “Oh my fucking fuck-fuck-fuck _God_ Lucan-”  
  
Alastair giggled and dropped his head to rest on Grayson’s collarbone. “Oh God,” He said as he squeezed Grayson again and listened to him gasp. “This will be fun, Grayson. I promise you this will be fun.”  
  
**[-The Thirteenth Day of July, 1887-]**  
  
Grayson woke up with his head pounding.  
  
It wasn’t the worst hangover he’d ever had- not by far, not when he’d been lived enough years to taste the worst that alcohol had to offer- but it was still unpleasant. He groped around for his vial of Blackwater and sipped some, feeling the headache gradually begin to slip away.  
  
All the while, he was aware of a body pressed against his back, and it took a few minutes for Grayson to recall exactly where he was and exactly who it was that he had gone to bed with last night.  
  
And when he did, his eyes snapped open, and he nearly jumped out of the bed.  
  
Jesus Christ. _Jesus Christ._  
  
_Alastair?_ Of all the men in England he could have ended up with, it had to be _Alastair?_ Well, alright, there were worse possibilities- Hastings came to mind- but still, what on _earth_ had he been thinking, hopping into bed with, with…  
  
A few memories came back: Memories of what they’d done together on the couch, and then against the wall, and then on the floor, and then on the bed. Grayson’s cheeks heated slightly. At least that explained it: He’d been thinking with his cock instead of his head, and his cock had a rather singular goal on any given day.  
  
It was hardly the first time that Grayson had gone a bit too deep into his cups and woken up next to someone- but usually that someone was a woman, and usually the woman in question was not a (technically former) colleague, or someone who had attempted to kill him in the past. It was bloody Alastair D’Argyll, a man he’d been stuck with in a rundown house for three months after escaping London, a man who had not once indicated that he was romantically or sexually inclined towards Grayson- or men, for that matter.  
  
But then, maybe Lycanthropy wasn’t the only secret Alastair had been keeping for the last few hundred years.  
  
As for Grayson… He could appreciate the male form as much as the female. But he’d never given any really serious thought to sleeping with a man; it was inappropriate at best and a mortal sin at worst. Nowadays they’d throw you in an asylum for fucking a man- at least in England, anyway- but Grayson and Alastair both had lived through ages where one could be executed for it. It had simply never been a viable option before, and as Grayson primarily found himself attracted to women, it was an option he’d never been tempted to take advantage of. Women were simply a safer choice, however curious he’d been, on occasion, when he’d seen another Knight strip down in front of him and had the impulsive curiosity about what it might feel like to be with them sexually.  
  
Well, he had the answer to that question now, didn’t he?  
  
And Christ, but Alastair was warm.  
  
So, suppressing the reflexive, low-level anxiety he felt at the situation, Grayson gently pressed back against Alastair, not daring to move any further. It had been such a long time since he’d been with anyone, and he now remembered how nice it was to be in bed with someone else, now nice it was to be close physically with another person outside of a combat-scenario.  
  
“ _Mnf_ ,” Alastair rolled over, and an arm circled and tightened around Grayson’s waist. “Morning,” he muttered into Grayson’s shoulder-blades.  
  
“Morning,” Grayson rumbled in response.  
  
For a time they laid there like that, unwilling to move or talk. The quiet was comfortable; the quiet didn’t require awkward questions to be asked or answered. Alastair kept his arm where it was, and Grayson pressed in closer beside him. Grayson watched the light streaming in from the window grow brighter over time.  
  
It occurred to him that Lakshmi and Devi were probably wondering where he was, and the longer he delayed in getting back to them, the more suspicious they would grow as to what was keeping him.  
  
But leaving would require talking.  
  
And talking would complicate things.  
  
So Grayson stayed where he was, feeling Alastair’s breath on his back and trying to stay relaxed.  
  
Inevitably, however, it was Alastair who spoke:  
  
“We’re going to have to get up eventually.”  
  
Grayson huffed a laugh and finally rolled over to face the other man. Maybe he really was a melancholy drunk, or maybe having sex just relaxed him (if it did, he should be considerably more relaxed than he was before, because as time went on and Grayson remembered more, they had done a _lot_ last night), but Alastair looked far more content than he had last night. “So,” Grayson said.  
  
Alastair waited a moment, and then resettled his arm on Grayson’s waist. “So.”  
  
“We had sex.”  
  
“We did.”  
  
“If everything hadn’t been so insane for the last eight months, I might be more shocked about this. That said, I didn’t know you liked men.”  
  
“Likewise,” Alastair chuckled. In the light of day, that scar on his bicep looked even worse. He saw Grayson looking and cleared his throat. “…I’m sorry if I… _Over-shared_ last night,” Alastair imparted gently. “I didn’t mean to get so personal.”  
  
Grayson snorted in disbelief. “ _Personal?_ Do you recall everything we did last night? Venting your frustrations to me was quite a bit less personal than what you did to my _arse_.”  
  
Alastair laughed again, running a hand down his face. “I did say you’d have fun, didn’t I Gray?”  
  
“You did,” Grayson said, unable to hold back a smirk. “You did.”  
  
“And did you?”  
  
“I did.” Grayson sobered a little. “That wasn’t your first time with a man, was it?”  
  
Alastair hesitated. The arm he had on Grayson’s waist felt tense. “No,” He admitted finally, “It wasn’t. I’ve had a dalliance or two before.”  
  
“Oh.” Grayson was overcome with curiosity as to who those dalliances had been with- namely, if they’d been other Knights- but it felt inappropriate to ask, especially given how hesitant he was to tell Grayson about them at all.  
  
“Honestly, I was half-convinced you were going to punch me last night,” Alastair chuckled, and there was some nervousness in that laugh, like he still considered it to be a possibility. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react to being kissed, or propositioned.” A pause. “Of course, I was drunk, so I wasn’t thinking all that clearly either.”  
  
“I wasn’t either, if I’m being honest.” Grayson hesitated, reflexively restraining himself from uttering anything about his preferences until he remembered that he was lying naked in a bed with a man that he’d had several different kinds of sexual contact with the night before. “I’ve never been with a man. I never… I like men, but I’ve never approached one. It never seemed prudent.”  
  
Alastair gave a wry smile at that, and nudged just a bit closer to Grayson. “I know the feeling.” He bit his lip. “I don’t suppose it would hurt to tell you that I… I’m only interested in men. Not women.”  
  
“You’ve always felt that way?”  
  
“As long as I can remember.” The smile took on a bitter edge. “Lycanthropy and homosexuality: Two things I’ve been bloody-well smart to keep quiet over the last five-hundred years.”  
  
Grayson shook his head and, after a moment’s hesitation, settled a hand on Alastair’s hip. “I’m sorry. That must have been hell.”  
  
Alastair shrugged noncommittally.  
  
The mask was back on; he wouldn’t cop to being miserable or upset with his current situation. And maybe the sex had relaxed Grayson too- or maybe it was just the security of knowing that Alastair didn’t plan on slitting his throat anytime soon- because he was less apprehensive than he’d been when he’d entered that room last night. He edged forward and, with only a bit of hesitation, curled his arms around Alastair’s back, leaning his head in the crook of Alastair’s neck. After a moment, the arm on Grayson’s waist tightened considerably.  
  
They stayed like that for a while, comfortable in a way that Grayson hadn’t thought was possible with another man. But now, in a way, he had a much better sense of the fact that despite everything else that transpired between them, he and Alastair shared a particular sort of problem: They’d both left everything they had known, everything that was familiar to them and were now forced to adjust to new people and places, all with the dread that they would one day have to confront the ones they’d left behind.  
  
It was a shared dread, and it was nice to know that someone appreciated it the same way.  
  
After a time, though, Alastair sighed and disentangled himself from Grayson. “We really do need to get up. We’ll be missed.”  
  
“You’re right.”  
  
Thankfully, most of their clothing had come off in the bedroom and it wasn’t difficult to put themselves back together.  
  
“I’m curious,” Grayson said as he pulled his undershirt on.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Why me?” Grayson twisted the fabric of his over-shirt between his fingers. “Why sleep with me, I mean?”  
  
Alastair shrugged. “I could ask you the same question.”  
  
“I was drunk.”  
  
“So was I.”  
  
“So it wasn’t… Premeditated?”  
  
Alastair snorted. “You mean, have I been pining after you for centuries? Kept a drawing of you tucked away in my pillow at night?” He snickered when Grayson smacked him on the ribs. “No, Galahad- I find you attractive and agreeable as a person. I won’t lie, I’ve seriously entertained the idea of propositioning you before,” He paused again to run an appreciative glance up and down Grayson’s body, “But I’ve never pined for your hand in marriage or anything like that. That was always Isa-”  
  
Alastair’s mouth clamped shut, and suddenly the mood was tense.  
  
Grayson swallowed. “She can _never_ know about this.”  
  
“Well, I certainly don’t plan on telling her. I’ve done her enough harm without casually mentioning that I’ve slept with someone she’s been mad over for the last two-hundred years.” He paused. “Did you- I mean- Did you ever… Reciprocate?”  
  
It was a rare thing to hear Alastair D’Argyll sound flustered over something, and Grayson took a moment to appreciate it before responding. “I do love Isi. Dearly, at that. Just… Not in the way she would like.” He frowned. “Though I’m quite certain at this point she’s no love left for me at all.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say that,” Alastair said softly. “She can be very-”  
  
The door flew open, and Alastair and Grayson sprung apart, the former jumping up and pushing Grayson back towards the bed. A man stepped in, already speaking: “Argyll, Argus wants you down at the docks, there’s been a-”  
  
He stopped midsentence as he finally realized what he was looking at.  
  
Alastair sighed. “Tell him I’ll be right there, Ron.”  
  
The man sniffed the air- then frowned. “Is that a _human?_ ”  
  
Alastair whirled on him, and though Grayson couldn’t see his face, the guttural _roar_ that emitted from him said that he’d probably half-transformed to intimidate the poor sod- who, upon further reflection, was probably also a Lycan. Said sod’s eyes widened, and he quickly disappeared through the door again.  
  
When he turned back to Grayson, Alastair’s face had lost all trace of its Lycan form. “Duty calls,” The younger man sighed.  
  
“He didn’t seem all that shocked that you were with a man,” Grayson noted, still half-frozen as his brain tried to comprehend everything that had happened.  
  
“Yes, well, when you belong to a people that live on the underbelly fringes of society, certain things become a bit less controversial,” Alastair responded brusquely. “To some people, anyway. Though I promise you I’ll catch plenty of hell for sleeping with a human.”  
  
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m half-certain Lakshmi will cut my throat if she finds out I’ve slept with you,” Grayson only half-laughed as he said it, because he was actually decently concerned that it could happen. A Lycan might, possibly, be negotiable; but Lakshmi hated Alastair for what he’d done in this very house some six months back, all but handing them over to Hastings.  
  
All the better that she never learn about this.  
  
Grayson took his crossbow and made sure that all of his other weapons were secured on his belt. He had everything; there was no further reason for delay, and Alastair seemed to realize that as well.  
  
“We should do this again sometime.” Apparently uncomfortable with how soft the words sounded, Alastair’s voice became more business-like. “If you like. I certainly wouldn’t object to it.”  
  
“Nor would I.” Grayson smiled wryly. “I think we’ve put to rest any suspicions about either of us wanting to do the other any harm.”  
  
“Indeed.” Alastair hesitated, awkward again, and then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Grayson’s cheek. “Alright,” he said once he’d pulled away, “Go on before your Queen thinks you turned.”  
  
“If you need an excuse for your friend,” Grayson said, “You can always tell him you were trying to get information out of me.”  
  
Alastair smiled, and it was probably the most genuine one Grayson had seen on him in at least a year. “Goodbye, Grayson.”  
  
“Goodbye, Alastair.”  
  
Grayson left the Company House, meeting no guards on the way out, and felt quite a bit lighter than he had when he and Alastair had last parted.  
  
In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time.  
   
-End

 

**Author's Note:**

> I… I ship these two really, really bad. I mean, I kind of ship Grayson with everyone, but Grayson/Alastair is the OTP. I debated whether or not to make the series go in a romantic direction, but tbh, at this point it just is because my brain and the scenarios I have planned in the future work with it.


End file.
